


Red Salvia

by chamyl



Category: Good Omens (TV)
Genre: Aftercare, Anal Sex, Biting, Blow Jobs, Bottom Aziraphale (Good Omens), Consensual Mind Reading, Crowley Has a Praise Kink (Good Omens), Dom Aziraphale (Good Omens), Dom/sub, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Established Relationship, Fluff, Fluff and Smut, Gentle Dom Aziraphale (Good Omens), Hand Jobs, Ineffable Husbands (Good Omens), Kissing, Kneeling, Love, M/M, Oral Sex, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Porn with Feelings, Post-Almost Apocalypse (Good Omens), Praise Kink, Restraints, Romance, Safe Sane and Consensual, Self-Esteem Issues, Smut, Sub Crowley (Good Omens), Tenderness, Top Crowley (Good Omens), very very soft
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-20
Updated: 2019-12-20
Packaged: 2021-02-26 05:22:29
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,420
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21878086
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/chamyl/pseuds/chamyl
Summary: “Read my mind.” Crowley repeated, more and more convinced this was the best idea he’d had in a decade. “I can’t—I don’t know how to ask. But you can see for yourself, can’t you?”“Technically speaking, yes.” Aziraphale replied, and Crowley could tell his request was about to be turned down. “But I wouldn’t do that to you, it feels so terribly intrusive, and I—”“Please.”He begged, the word bitter on his tongue. “Aziraphale. It’s been—too long, since I last had the option to ask for—anything. I don’t—I can’t.”🖤Crowley is aware he's always the one doing things for Aziraphale - but when Aziraphale decides to reciprocate, how can he even begin to ask him for what he wants, when he has forgotten how to ask at all?
Relationships: Aziraphale & Crowley (Good Omens), Aziraphale/Crowley (Good Omens)
Comments: 84
Kudos: 765
Collections: Oh Come All Ye Sinful! A Depraved Holiday Exchange 2019





	Red Salvia

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Gabrieldiedforoursins](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Gabrieldiedforoursins/gifts).



> Part of the M25 x IT servers Gift Exchange!  
> Long prompt used: Aziraphale feels bad for always being the one needing help, but seldom being the one to offer his own services to Crowley, Crowley acknowledging that unhealthiness.  
> Short prompt used: D/S, H/C.

“How about…” Aziraphale sank his teeth into the side of Crowley’s neck and the demon, much to his own embarrassment, whimpered like a wounded animal, his cock throbbing in his pants as he leaned back to press into the angel’s chest.

In truth, this was all his fault. He’d agreed to this. He’d agreed, because… well, because Aziraphale had asked, with his big blue-green pleading eyes, his long eyelashes, his lower lip jutting out just a tiny bit. He’d agreed because he was a total idiot and had no sense of self-preservation and was terribly, hopelessly in love.

“Or maybe…?” Aziraphale clamped his lips against sensitive skin and sucked, and Crowley’s fingers tightened into the angel’s white-blonde curls.

It’d all been a bit of a whirlwind. The world not ending, one night at the bookshop, one too many glasses of wine, Aziraphale staring at his lips… _Aziraphale staring at his lips_. Aziraphale _leaning_ towards his lips, and Crowley thinking – maybe the angel was reaching for something behind him? Or… did he want a hug or something? But—Aziraphale had ended up right _upon_ his lips, giving him a soft kiss, smiling, drunk on love and wine before gasping and pulling back—too late, too late, Crowley was already lunging for him, clutching his face and kissing him back.

The first time of many, and what a memorable first time at that.

And then, there had been dinners and flowers for Aziraphale – lavender for devotion, yarrow for everlasting love, red salvia for _forever mine_. And also gifts – a precious first edition, a gold snuff box, a new record player. Presents wrapped in paper-thin excuses.

_I bought this book off the street. Why, is it worth anything?_

_Our table at the Ritz is free tonight, are you feeling ‘peckish’?_

_Ah, these? My plants made these, it’s the season. Take them, put them in water. Shout at them every so often, all right?_

And there had been nights together. _Oh_ , the nights together. Crowley had committed every single moment to memory. Often, he wouldn’t blink at all, not even once, taking in Aziraphale’s shivers and moans, the parting of his lips, the shaking of his glorious thighs. He would bend any which way for his angel, even in ways which shouldn’t have been physically possible – but if Aziraphale wanted to be fucked hard and deep while a forked tongue rubbed over his left nipple over and over – he would have it. If Aziraphale wanted to be taken against a wall, making the whole building shake, Crowley could very well fire off a few miracles for his angel, hoist him up, and give it to him until his knees shook.

And it’d been great. Seeing Aziraphale thoroughly satisfied filled Crowley with pride. Before, he had to hide his affection for the angel, pretending the little favours were just part of their agreement – now, he had the chance to go all out, in and out of bed.

Which is to say, it took him a while to parse what the angel was telling him when Aziraphale sat him down and asked what he could do for him.

“For me?” Crowley had replied, dumbly. “Nothing.”

“That’s impossible, dear.” Aziraphale had taken his hand, stroking his bony knuckles with his soft thumb. “Everybody wants something.”

“You.” Crowley had muttered, his face burning with the admission. But – but it was true, and he was so _tired_ of holding words back. “That’s enough.”

Aziraphale had smiled like a terse winter morning, the sunlight bright and warm over the dew-wet green of his eyes.

“How?” He’d insisted, the upturning corner of his lips informing the demon that Aziraphale wasn’t going to let this go. Crowley had shrugged. Aziraphale had leaned in a little closer, speaking softly. “Isn’t there anything at all you can picture me doing for you?”

Crowley had opened and closed his mouth a few times like a fish out of water. It’s not like—he wasn’t—there _were_ things he could picture. Oh, there were a _lot_. Maybe there were even _too many_ to know what to start with.

Aziraphale had patiently waited for an answer that never came, then seemed to come to a decision. “What about… what if I tried some things, would you let me know which you ones like best?”

Crowley had swallowed, his throat tight and his jeans tighter at the idea of Aziraphale experimenting on him. God, he was going to discorporate before they even started. “Uh. Sure.”

The angel had unsheathed his best smile, which fell somewhere between his _I got what I wanted_ smile and his _I love you so terribly much_ smile, and set to work.

* * *

Crowley had thought it’d be wiser to have the angel behind him, rather than looking at him in the eyes the whole time – but he’d miscalculated. Sitting between his lover’s legs and leaning back, his shoulder blades poking into Aziraphale’s chest, his eyes shut tight – well, that meant being caught by surprise with every new touch.

He was exposed, and vulnerable, and he couldn’t wait for more.

Aziraphale’s fingertip drew a slow circle around one of the demon’s nipples. Okay, _okay_. That much Crowley could stand. Then the angel drew another circle, smaller, closer. Crowley breathed in, a bit shakily now. Aziraphale gently flicked his nipple with the tip of a nail and the demon bit into the back of his own hand, trying hard to swallow back an embarrassing moan.

He shouldn’t have been that much of a wreck already – he really shouldn’t have. But his body wasn’t listening to reason. It’d been aching to be touched from the moment Aziraphale had suggested this.

And if Crowley had been hopelessly turned on at the mere _idea_ of this happening – now he was completely helpless against the ripples of pleasure underneath his skin. He almost couldn’t take it, and maybe… maybe that was why he so often focused on Aziraphale instead, whenever they had sex. Maybe the only way to keep a modicum of control over himself – was not thinking about himself _at all_.

“My dear,” Aziraphale chided him, but ever so gently, “are you able to talk to me? Would you tell me what I’m doing right?”

Crowley shut his eyes tight and shook his head. Fucking stupid of him to be so pathetically overwhelmed already. Piss-poor excuse for a demon, barely touched and already falling apart at the seams, he truly was a complete and utter—

“ _Crowley_.” Aziraphale uttered his name with so much love and compassion that it cut right through the demon’s disparaging self-talk – a rather impressive accomplishment. The angel did it quite often, actually, now that Crowley thought about it. Did he know when he was having such thoughts about himself? Could he tell, from the outside? Could he read his mind?

Crowley’s thoughts stumbled on that last question like a record player’s needle skipping over vinyl, stuck on a single note.

No, seriously - c _ould he read his mind?_

He turned around the slightest bit in the angel’s arms, just enough to be able to look at him in the eyes. “Will you say yes, if I ask you for something?”

“Absolutely, darling.” Aziraphale leaned in, kissing the corner of his mouth. “Within reason, I will do anything for your pleasure.”

Crowley’s tongue darted out to wet his dry lips. “Read my mind.”

Aziraphale blinked. “Excuse me?”

“Read my mind.” Crowley repeated, more and more convinced this was the best idea he’d had in a decade. “I can’t—I don’t know how to ask. But you can see for yourself, can’t you?”

“Technically speaking, yes.” Aziraphale replied, and Crowley could tell his request was about to be turned down. “But I wouldn’t do that to you, it feels so terribly intrusive, and I—”

“ _Please_.” He begged, the word bitter on his tongue. “Aziraphale. It’s been—too long, since I last had the option to ask for—anything. I don’t—I can’t.” God, he wasn’t making any fucking sense.

But Aziraphale kissed the pulsing point on his temple, brushed a knuckle against the demon’s sharp cheekbone with so much tenderness that Crowley’s heart would have broken in two if he still had one to break.

“All right, yes. But you have to swear to tell me to stop the moment I go in too deep. Do you understand me, Crowley?”

Crowley nodded, relief washing over him. He wouldn’t have trusted anyone else with the jumbled mess of desires and needs inside his brain. He’d kept those thoughts at bay for so long (too long), had denied himself the things he wanted the most for so many years. He was a dam about to burst. But Aziraphale could handle all of him.

And so, he guided the angel’s hands to his head, closed his eyes, and let go.

* * *

He heard Aziraphale gasp behind him as he walked through the crowded palace of his mind. He couldn’t tell exactly what the angel was seeing, but he had a pretty good idea of what he kept stored in there. He blushed furiously, but it felt strangely liberating to show him – all without having to say a single word.

“Oh, Crowley.” Aziraphale sighed dreamily, wrapping his arms around the demon’s naked body, pulling him closer. “There is so much love, I—”

“Please.” He rasped, for the second time in a few minutes. “Don’t.”

“But…” Aziraphale buried his nose into his hair. “No, you’re right. Of course. I apologise. Let me take care of you, then.”

Crowley swallowed back the third _please_ of the day and opened his knees a little wider.

“No, dearest.” The angel murmured against the nape of his neck. “That’s lovely, but we’re going to stand up now.”

Those words sent a shiver down his spine. Of course. He had given Aziraphale access to his mind, he shouldn’t have been surprised that he knew exactly what to do. Still, he stood up and let the angel take his hand like a sleepwalking man, let his lover lead him to the full-length mirror on the wall of the bedroom.

Aziraphale, behind him, grabbed him by the hips possessively _,_ and Crowley let himself bask in the feeling of being his. Loved, and safe, and his, _forever his_. And about to have the time of his life, apparently.

He looked into the mirror. They made a sharp contrast – Aziraphale, the soft curves of his body fully clothed, a fond smile on his face, and Crowley, stark naked, all sharp angles, with his lips parted, his cheeks flushed despite himself, a dazed look in his eyes as he stared at the angel’s carefully manicured hands on his hips.

“It’s quite obvious, really. But you want to hear it, so I don’t mind repeating it.” He dragged his fingers along the plane of Crowley’s chest, held him at the throat, his other hand still on the demon’s hip. He gently nudged Crowley’s chin to make sure he was looking into the mirror with him. “You are the most beautiful thing I ever laid eyes on, Crowley.”

Crowley made a weak, choked sound in his throat.

“Do you see it, darling?” Aziraphale was slightly shorter than him, his lips against a soft spot on the back of the demon’s neck. “How perfectly we fit together?”

Crowley let a long, silent breath flow out of him. They did fit together well, impressively so. But still, some time had to pass before the day Crowley woke up feeling worthy of Aziraphale’s love.

“Do you remember…” both hands moved to caress Crowley’s skin now – his thigh, his stomach, his side; his chest, his neck, his cheek, “when you came to rescue me, at the Bastille?”

“‘Course.” Crowley replied. How could he ever forget? Aziraphale had been dressed in frills and silk and almost got himself discorporated.

“You were simply dashing that day. I would have—” the angel pressed his lips together, a small, fast cloud over his smile. “I wanted to, terribly so. _Oh_ , my dear…”

He kept running his hands all over Crowley’s body, slowly, reverently, and Crowley felt it – how with each brush of his fingers, with every light squeeze, Aziraphale was remembering one time he hadn’t been allowed to reach out. God knew Crowley had done the same, from the first time they could touch, not sure who to thank for such a gift.

In truth, the demon was glad his lover was behind him right now, because he was starting to feel as if he was floating, and he couldn’t be sure he’d hold himself up on his own. Having Aziraphale pour so much love over him, making him _watch in the mirror_ as he did – it was so much. It bordered on too much. He couldn’t keep going like this for long, it was too intense. He needed to be doing something, to be put to good use until he couldn’t think anymore, the storm in his mind was too strong and too loud and—

Aziraphale turned him around and held him close. Crowley vaguely realised he was hard and dripping wet spots against the soft fabric of the angel’s trousers, but his lover didn’t seem to mind.

Aziraphale grabbed him at the wrists, pulling them up to his lips. He kissed the soft skin between Crowley’s thumb and forefinger as they stared into each other’s eyes.

“Would you go down on your knees for me?” Aziraphale asked, his tone neutral, steady, as if he had asked to pass him the salt.

Crowley opened his lips to reply. Nothing came. Aziraphale held his wrists tightly over his head as he dropped down, down to his knees and deeper into that soft, hot, floating feeling.

A blink of Aziraphale’s eyes and the angel’s trousers and underwear opened themselves – a maze of buttons and fastenings that generally drove Crowley up a wall. The demon knew what to do then, gladly opening his lips to take him into his mouth. Yes – this, he knew how to do. This, he knew he was good at. This, he enjoyed immensely – the weight of Aziraphale’s cock getting harder upon his tongue, the salty, musky taste of him, such a sharp contrast with the rest of him, vanilla soap sweet. Aziraphale’s small moans of pleasure escaping his lips as Crowley sucked and lapped and groaned in response, his goldenrod eyes fluttering closed.

He distinctly felt a drop of sweat rolling down his back, revelling in the sharp sting of his shoulders as Aziraphale kept holding his wrists high, encircled firmly in his gentle hands. Deliberately cutting down his demon’s options until Crowley had no choices to make – not a single doubt in his overcrowded mind. Couldn’t use his hands, couldn’t stand up, couldn’t talk: only one divinely obscene course of action left to him.

His cock throbbed so hard between his legs it was almost physically painful.

Aziraphale started moving. Small, precise thrusts, his sounds getting louder now, muffled into a shower of kisses all over Crowley’s knuckles, fingers, wrists. Crowley became vaguely aware he was drooling from one of the corners of his lips, too impatient, too hungry, enjoying himself a little too much – and not getting scolded for it, no – rather, Aziraphale pressed a kiss into the palm of his hand and rolled his hips into a smooth, long thrust, hitting the back of Crowley’s throat and sliding back out, dragging a guttural, sandpapery moan out of the demon as he went.

“Oh,” Aziraphale told the craze pulse on Crowley’s wrist, “oh Crowley, I’m… you’re so—”

 _Good_ , was what Aziraphale didn’t manage to say, but Crowley heard it anyway, preened for it, relished in it.

The angel’s hands led his wrists down, behind Crowley’s head – like a prisoner, the demon thought dazedly – so that Aziraphale could hold him still while he pushed into his mouth. Only a few more deep thrusts – and Crowley couldn’t help the disappointed moan that slipped out of his lips when the angel pulled back, leaving him empty.

Aziraphale let go of his wrists at last, petting his hair, a finger sliding along the demon’s sharp jawline to hook under his chin and gently tilt his head up to look at him.

“I know, my dear. Believe me,” he gave a weak, breathless laugh, “it was very hard for me too. But there’s more I need to do for you.”

Crowley closed his mouth into a slight pout, even though Aziraphale was right – and how could the angel not be, when he had free access to his deepest desires? Maybe Crowley should have been more embarrassed that his wishes were relatively soft and simple and he still couldn’t manage to ask for them aloud – but then again, sometimes he felt it would have been easier to ask to be bent over the kitchen counter and fucked so thoroughly he couldn’t walk the next day than to ask to be gently taken in hand and told what to do, all the while being reassured he was loved, and treasured, and doing a good job.

“My dear,” Aziraphale said, and something in Crowley’s chest tightened and burned at the look of pure, merciless love the angel gave him, “My dearest. Please go lie on the bed.”

Crowley took one of Aziraphale’s hands and stood up on wobbly knees, absentmindedly massaging the dull, sweet ache in his jaw. He did as he was told, lying on his back in the centre of the bed, completely flat against the mattress except for his erection standing ramrod straight.

Aziraphale had buttoned his pants back up when he climbed on the bed with him, the mattress dipping under his weight. Calmly, gently, he wrapped his fingers around Crowley’s cock and started stroking him.

Crowley reacted like a man stumbling into live wire – all the air punched out him as he squirmed and jerked his hips forward, his spine leaving the bed.

Aziraphale gave a fond chuckle – a _chuckle_ , for Heaven’s sake – and kept caressing him, up and down and smooth like anything. Slowly, steadily, confidently. And Crowley – Crowley wasn’t even sure what he wanted anymore. To grab Aziraphale by the wrist and fuck his fist to a mind-blowing orgasm, or to be good and stay right there and take it, trying to distract himself from the pleasure building and building and threatening to take over.

In the end, he did neither: he let Aziraphale take care of him as he clutched the sheets on either side of his head, his hips moving in time with the coming and going of the angel’s hand, floating with the tide rather than trying, uselessly, to resist it.

Aziraphale’s fingers stilled all of a sudden, and Crowley shamelessly whimpered and thrust up into the angel’s hand, chasing the orgasm thrumming just below the surface.

“Wait.” Aziraphale ordered, and Crowley fell back into the bed with a desperate groan. _But I want this,_ he thought, _if you can see my desires you’d know that I want—_ “I’m going to give you what you _need_ , too.”

Crowley had no reply for that. Actually, maybe he’d lost the capacity for coherent speech altogether a while ago. He could only watch, his heart rabbiting inside his ribs, as Aziraphale finally took off his clothes, piece by piece, baring his cream white skin for the demon’s hungry eyes. Crowley realised he’d licked his lips and flushed scarlet, his self-control clearly gone to the dogs. Fuck, but Aziraphale was right. He needed this. He needed the angel to crawl back on the bed, fully naked, white-blond curls tousled, a shy smile that had no goddamn right to be there on his face, and ride him into the fucking mattress.

Aziraphale straddled him, and Crowley reached for the side of his thighs like a drowning man. He heard the tingling of a small, familiar miracle as Aziraphale took the demon’s cock in his hand, positioned it between his thighs, and smoothly sank onto it, his head tilting back as he let out a relieved, shuddery sigh. He took a second to savour the moment before moving, and Crowley watched it all, transfixed. The angel towered over him, a glorious vision of soft curves and hidden strength, taking him so well, taking him a million times, and how was it possible – to be so thoroughly satisfied and still wanting for _more, again, just a little more, just one more time, angel, please_ —

Crowley bit down into his lower lip, no, he wouldn’t come, not yet. He would watch Aziraphale bring himself to his peak and only then would he allow himself to find his own.

“ _Hmm, Crowley_ …” but fuck if Aziraphale didn’t already sound completely ruined, with that little moan Crowley knew all too well – the same the angel made when he dropped a spoonful of crème brûlée on his pink tongue, “oh, my dear… ah, I’m afraid… I’m afraid I won’t last long at all, Crowley…”

Crowley didn’t know to tell him to please, _please come_ , please make a mess of him, over him, on his stomach and chest and neck, mark him, remind him he’s his and his alone, forever. He glanced at the red salvia flowers he got for Aziraphale, currently sitting in a small vase on the angel’s nightstand, their life surely elongated beyond their nature by a frivolous ethereal miracle.

Then, he pistoned his hips up into him, and Aziraphale breathed out a quiet _fuck_ which almost had Crowley lose it right there. And then, less quietly, Aziraphale muttered _you’re so terribly hard_ , and the demon had to cling to his self-restraint with every cell of his body to stop the rush of an orgasm demanding to take over.

Thankfully, Aziraphale wasn’t holding back at all, angling his hips to perfection, rising and falling back over and over – and then taking himself in hand as Crowley held him at the waist, fucking up into him, begging him to finish in every possible way that wasn’t asking for it aloud.

When Aziraphale came, it was with such a delighted, ecstatic expression on his face that Crowley tried his best to keep looking at him as his body finally gave out, the pleasure thrumming hot and white right through him, but he tried – with his vision blurring and the shock waves of his own orgasm tearing him to pieces – to keep his gaze on the angel, gorgeous and heavy and real over him, until he couldn’t, eyes rolling back and tongue forking at the tip as the bliss took over.

Aziraphale kept moving on top of him, greedy, wringing every last drop of pleasure out of him, until Crowley could only slap the angel’s thigh weakly, asking for mercy.

He sank back into the bed, feeling a grin bloom on his face and unable to help himself. Aziraphale leaned over him, running a thumb along the demon’s wet lower lip.

“Your smile,” Aziraphale said through laboured breaths, “it’s unlike – anything I’ve ever seen, my dear.”

Crowley groaned at the praise, too exhausted to protest, all too happy to bask in it. Besides, he couldn’t possibly stop himself from smiling. He was warm, and comfortable, and everything felt perfect, absolutely perfect, and fuck it, he loved Aziraphale so much – he wrapped his arms around the angel – and not once in his entire existence had he felt so completely understood and accepted for all that he was. Even for the most tender parts of him, the ones he liked to hide behind dark glasses and expensive black leather.

Aziraphale shifted, and Crowley slipped out of him as the same time as he felt the angel slip out of his mind. He missed him, a bit – he’d been such a gentle, warm presence, barely noticeable until he was gone. But it was fine. They could play this game again anytime.

Aziraphale settled beside him and opened his arms to him, and Crowley didn’t hesitate for a moment before dropping into them, his cheek comfortably pillowed on his lover’s chest.

“How did I do?” The angel asked as he started stroking his hair, and Crowley didn’t look up, but he could easily hear the smile in Aziraphale’s voice.

He made an affirmative noise, something to convey ‘ _great’_ and ‘ _can’t talk, too wrecked’_ and, hopefully, ‘ _thank you, I love you’_.

Aziraphale gave a soft chuckle. Then, very quietly, “Crowley,” he said, and the demon heard his own name through Aziraphale’s chest, the slight vibrations against his cheek, “I know what I’ve seen when you opened your mind to me… and I know you won’t believe me, but I have to say it anyway. I just… I want you to know you deserve this. And much more than this, as well.”

Crowley curled up against him a little more, his mind still too foggy to come up with any kind of reply. He felt raw, and loved, and also completely overwhelmed. “I—that—if—”

“Shhh.” Aziraphale shook his head. “No, don’t say anything. I just wanted you to hear it. You need to rest now.”

“‘kay.” Crowley gulped out. He made a show to shrug – which was quite the feat from where he lay – as if he could totally play it cool. Aziraphale said nothing of this ridiculousness, but Crowley suspected him to be smiling fondly. He heard the angel’s fingers snapping above his head and a moment later a plump, quilted duvet fell over them, heavy and warm. “Barely counts as a miracle, really.” The demon quoted, earning a soft chuckle from his angel. He yawned and settled in for a nap.

He barely realised he was falling asleep until he heard a very uncommon sound – a light snore from the angel’s parted lips. He forced his tired eyelids to stay open just a moment more, just to watch his lover for another few seconds. Aziraphale must have been exhausted – he had really gone above and beyond for him, had tried so hard to give him what he wanted, and then also what he needed.

And even though Crowley still thought he preferred to be the one to _give_ rather than the one to _receive_ – such a vulnerable position to be in – he knew this wasn’t going to be the last time he asked Aziraphale to put him on his knees and force him to take.

As he drifted off, blanketed by the feeling of being completely satisfied and cared for, he caught a glimpse of the red flowers on Aziraphale’s nightstand, and laid a kiss over the angel’s heart. _Forever mine_ , indeed.

**Author's Note:**

> [Daniel Radcliffe's _I tried, and therefore no one should criticize me_ gif] I don't know how to stick to a prompt to save my life but I TRIED ❤


End file.
